


Holding Out My Hands

by Drownmeinthemoon



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Dick Grayson, Alpha Jason Todd, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Arguing, Beta Alfred Pennyworth, Beta Tim Drake, But only a little, Developing Relationship, Discussion of Abortion, Dysfunctional Relationships, First Dates, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Mpreg, Multi, Not Beta Read, Omega Bruce Wayne, Pack Cuddles, Polyamory Negotiations, Pregnancy Kink, Protective Tim Drake, Sad Bruce Wayne, Secret pregnancy, Suicidal Thoughts, Unplanned Pregnancy, we die like Jason
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29213610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drownmeinthemoon/pseuds/Drownmeinthemoon
Summary: Bruce had given up on having kids years ago, being both a billionaire playboy and Batman had made the choice easy but fate never plays fair or easy and neither does parenthood especially the secret kind.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Dick Grayson/Tim Drake, Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Kudos: 19





	Holding Out My Hands

“Shit.”

__ Positive. 

Two unproductive afternoons filled with pregnancy test after pregnancy test and yet another stares up at him, the dark lines embedding themselves into his mind like a brand of shame. 

_ Positive.  _

Even after two days the word still makes him want to empty the contents of his stomach unto the pristine marble floor of his bathroom. He hasn’t puked since yesterday afternoon the initial shock doing a number on his insides. He isn’t exactly sure he can do much more than dry heave if he tried but the test— another nail in his already sealed coffin—makes him want to find something to wretch from his stomach, something that would set his throat ablaze until it was raw and leave him with the putrid taste of acid on his tongue, something that would make him forget. 

Bruce knows it would be a lesson in futility to do another test but he itches to, desperate to get just one negative test to dispel the knot that has taken residence in the pit of his stomach since the day before . He doesn't though. He's much too tired to fight off the overwhelming sense of self pity and get up. 

He of all people couldn’t and sure as hell shouldn’t be pregnant. He isn’t a horny teenager who can barely keep it in his pants well at least not anymore. He tries not to wallow in the self pity he usually finds himself wrapped up in instead focusing on the anxious feelings making his hair stand up in apprehension. 

_ Deep Breaths.  _

_ In.  _

_ Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Six, Five, Four, Three, Two, One.  _

_ Out.  _

__

_ Repeat. _

_ In.  _

_ Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Six, Five, Four, Three, Two, One.  _

_ Out.  _

_ Repeat. _

_ In.  _

_ Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Six, Five, Four, Three, Two, One.  _

_ Out.  _

  
  


That's what one of his many therapists had taught him when he was younger. The Rule of Threes she called it, if ever anything got too hard to handle split it into threes. To him it was silly really and he hadn’t been too eager for her advice at such a young age but he could begrudgingly admit it did work much to her amusement. 

She was one of the only ones he had shown any type decency towards, not by choice of course he being stubborn as he was temperamental put up a good fight but it seemed after two months of his abrasive temperament being met with her saintly amount of patience he had finally given up finding it tedious to continue the back and forth between her. 

Though he doesn’t remember her voice vividly he still likes to think she sounded angelic with a singsong like tone and a voice that sounded as sweet and as smooth as honey. He does however vaguely remember her tired brown eyes that squinted whenever she read and her tinkering laugh, that never failed to make him smile. Or at least he thinks he does. If he is being completely honest he isn’t sure if his mind has meshed the image of his mother and the first woman to ever care for him after her mother's death together but if so the image is usually quite comforting. 

Tonight the image only makes him feel guilty and no matter how hard he tries to calm himself he can’t help the surge of panic that grips him. He has no contingency plan for this. He had ruled out the possibility of getting pregnant years ago—something he had given up to better protect Gotham— even though his nature and age still allowed it cockily brushing the thought to one side as a way to disregard his role in the caste. But of course it had all caught up with things like usual and for once he isn’t three steps ahead and the thought is gut-wrenching. 

If it wasn’t for the fact that he was genuinely afraid, the thought would be quite comical. The Dark Knight, Prince of Gotham, Billionaire Playboy Bruce Wayne scared of his own unborn child. 

He bites the inside of his jaw trying not to let scream. He instead lets out a long tired sigh. Everything aches which isn’t that unusual for a person his age especially one who spends their nights fighting the criminally insane in full body armor but today everything hurts just a little more. He doesn’t know if it’s additional stress of pregnancy or the fact that Damian is away, 

leaving him to fight unprotected but his body just aches.

He frowns a part of him wishing to call the young alpha especially with his instincts about to kick into overdrive and he probably should but he knows he won’t. Still Bruce can’t help the slightly sour taste it leaves in his mouth whenever he thinks of his teenage son so far away in a different city fighting his own set of rouges. The logical side knows Damian isn’t ten anymore, he could take care of himself then and he sure can now and even if things get bad Dick is only thirty minutes away from Damian, still the emotional mother hen in him wants to drag his young son back into the nest and never let him go. However he knows he cannot do that so he tries not to dwell on it. 

After all it’s what he’d pushed his young son to do, Damian, while being quite confident and even arrogant at times, always had a hard time branching out and taking his first steps out of the nest. He wasn’t like the Robins before him in that way, he didn’t pursue anything more than to be his father’s right hand and one day takeover the mantle as Batman. Bruce suspects it’s the cultural disparity of being raised by the League and he accepts that it's hard to unlearn something instilled in you at such a young age but it doesn’t sit well with him. Bruce just wants Damian to have at least some semblance of normal teenage years or at least friends his own age before he even thinks about becoming the next dark knight and so he does the best he can and let his pup go off with the Titans. 

The omega groans weakly leaning against the edge of the cream colored tub wearily. His eyes darted to the scene before him staring out at the empty boxes of harsh fluorescent pink colored pregnancy tests littering the floor where his mat used to be, the only indication that the rug was still there was the tuft of cool grey fibers sticking out on either sides of one of the boxes. Everything about them is downright awful from the tacky mascot of a terrible photoshopped sperm with glasses and two toned brown and blue eyes on the box to the ugly cursive writing scrunched haphazardly together to make space for the even more illegible slogan. 

Bruce knows he’s just looking for something to be mad at but it gives him something to think about other than the dilemma of what makes him more nauseous; the uncertainty of bearing a child or the suffocating thought of telling the people around him that he’s pregnant.

“ _ I should have been more careful or at least seen it coming. After all, I am the world’s greatest detective.”  _ He can’t help the uncharacteristic snort that comes out of him. He’s always found the title unbelievably cheesy but then again he dresses up like a costumed bat so who was he to judge? 

He closes his eyes trying to pull up whatever courage he has left to get out of the bathroom. But his eyes feel so heavy, burning furiously as if to punish him. He can’t remember the last time he’s actually had any proper sleep. Every attempt at sleep was cut short by one emergency after another and after the Space Elephant incident he was more than convinced it was the universe telling him he didn’t deserve sleep . But now that his eyes are finally closed the thought of sleep becomes more and more enticing by the minute but he doubts he would get any with all the thoughts running in his head. 

“Master Bruce, is everything alright in there ? You didn’t hit your head trying to get out of the bathtub again did you ?” Alfred calls pressing his ear against the door. 

Even though Alfred tries to sound as calm as possible Bruce can hear the tiny waver of uncertainty and concern in his voice. The wave of guilt that washes over Bruce is almost tangible and maybe if he hadn’t schooled himself not to show any unnecessary emotions he would have broken down right then and there but instead he answers as easily as one can when hiding a pregnancy while in their late-thirties from a man who isn’t even their father but might as well be.

“ No Alfred, I’m fine and that only happened once you can please stop mentioning it now.“

Alfred pauses analyzing each word for the tiniest indication of what his Master might be hiding from him, because if there is one thing Alfred despises it’s Bruce’s self imposed martyrdom. He’s seen how far it could push the man, seen how easily it broke the strongest of bonds and turned their ever growing family against each other. 

“Are you going to be out anytime soon or will you be permanently brooding in the bathroom?” Alfred says deciding it would be better to leave his Master’s secrets be for now. 

“I’m not brooding.” Bruce protests, trying his best not to pout like a sullen child and failing miserably. 

Alfred rolls his eyes, to think the man who spent his night as the “fearsome” Batman still found time to whine like a spoiled child. 

“Of course not master Bruce. However, do note that if you do begin to spend all your time in that bathroom I will have no choice but to resort to calling you ‘Bathman’ and for heaven's sakes master Bruce do not pout .” 

The younger man can’t help but roll his eyes at this. He, like many parents , knew the joy of watching his child’s murderous look every time he cracked a so-called ‘dad joke’ but to be on the receiving end isn’t as joyous or entertaining. 

“Oh very funny, Alfred but next time leave the comedy to the comedians and I‘ll be out in a minute.” 

“Why thank you, Bathman.” Alfred says turning away from the door with a satisfied smirk. 

Bruce silently waits, listening to the retreating footsteps of his most trusted companion before running a frustrated hand over his face. He knows it’s childish but he doesn’t want to face Alfred. The man — like one does when taking care of someone since birth— has become like a father to the omega and the thought of telling his own father he got knocked up like some sort of cheap roadside whore makes his stomach turn.

A part of him wishes he could just sit on the bathroom floor until he shrivels up like a prune and dies surrounded by the evidence of his shameful ways. The thought sounds a lot better than having to look Alfred in the eye and tell him the truth,but he knows he has to at least try and salvage the pieces of his broken dignity and face Alfred. 

_ “Oh come on Bruce, it’s an old English butler you’ve faced worse.” _ He nods to himself, he has in fact faced worse but he still can’t help but wonder if Alfred will bombard him with a myriad of questions or just scream at him in anger or worse turn away from him with disgust. The thought makes him clammy, throughout everything Alfred had always maintained a level of almost soldier-like compusture. Even when the beta had seen Bruce at his very breaking point, toeing the very fine line between bad and good, Alfred always treated him like an equal, always making him feel like the situation was completely devoid of all dynamics and was simply a matter that anyone with human-like nature could understand. 

But this situation was all about dynamics. An alpha or even a beta wouldn’t have been in the same sItuation as him. There was no way of putting it that didn’t end with the same conclusion. Bruce had given into the weakness of being omega and now the whole world would bear witness to it. 

__ He sighs pushing himself off the floor with one hand. His back feels sore and he can barely feel his legs but he makes his way out of the bathroom and down towards the dining room, the paintings in the hallway feeling more and more like onlookers awaiting his execution. They make him feel more claustrophobic than ever. He quickens his pace only slowing down when the warm orange glow of the dining room light comes into view. He trots towards the table, his body suddenly feeling heavier than usual. Like magic or maybe just extremely good timing, Alfred is already sharing his food. 

The butler looks at peace obviously not noticing his presence which is a rarity to say the least. Alfred had been trained to detect a threat years before his parents had even thought about the prospect of having a child. To not notice the towering man leaning against the threshold of the brightly lit dining hall is like not noticing the sun exploding. 

  
  


Bruce takes a step forward, this time deliberately making his footsteps heard. Alfred still doesn’t look up from the aluminum pot. He quietly stirs in a sweeping motion, Alfred infamous red ladle tight in one hand and the other gripping the pot handle. The soup bubbles softly as Alfred turns the stove down to a light simmer. 

The smell of food assaults his nose which is unusually sensitive even for him. He supposes it’s one of the effects of his unforeseen pregnancy. The food smells delicious and even with so much on his mine he can’t help but think about food. He barely keeps his mouth from watering at the scent wafting from the pot. Yet, for how delicious the food smells his stomach still disagrees with him, the very idea of actually eating even the tiniest amount makes him queasy. 

“Smell delicious,” Bruce says, a smile akin to his now famous playboy smile gracing his lips. 

Alfred finally looks up at him, a prideful smile painted onto his wrinkled face. 

“Why thank you, Master Bruce. It’s your favorite,” Alfred says put a steaming bowl right in front of him. He stares down at it before glancing up at Alfred who has already seated himself at the table. He slowly picks up the silver spoon before placing it down again and pushing the bowl away. 

He lets out a long tired sigh. “Thank you Alfred but I’m not that hungry tonight,” Bruce says leaning back into the chair with a frown. Alfred gives a concerned look that doesn't go unnoticed by his master. 

“Master Bruce what is the matter? For the past two days you’ve reeked of nervousness and you can barely eat and don’t tell me you’re not sic—“

“I’m pregnant,” Bruce blurts out before recoiling in shock at his own outburst. Alfred’s eyes widen, Bruce can practically see the wheels turning in Alfred’s head and with how close he looks to popping a blood vessel Bruce doesn’t think he’ll like the outcome. 

“Pregnant? As in with a child ?”

“Well yes Alfred that’s usually what most people are pregnant with?” Bruce tries to joke but it comes off more stilted and awkward than lighthearted. He shifts uncomfortably under Alfred’s gaze. Maybe he really should have shriveled up in the bathroom when he had the chance or at least prepared a speech.

“And the father ?” Alfred asks weakly, the shock still evident on his face as he now resembled a startled deer in Bruce’s opinion which again would have been funny if it wasn’t for the circumstances. 

“Does it really matter? I don’t think he would be in this child’s life either way,” Bruce mumbles never once meeting Alfred’s eyes. 

“Who is the father, Bruce ?” His tone reminds Bruce of when he was young around ten or so and would come home from shirt untucked, hair unkempt and shoes untied to a very livid Alfred. He can practically see the pursed lips and narrowed eyes burning holes into his head even though his eyes are fixated on the salt and pepper shaker on the table in front of him. 

“I—, Jason.” 

  
  



End file.
